My head gets cloudy. My thoughts get wavy. My eyes get tired. I stop motion. I lose thought pattern. The beasties are coming.
Or it’s the opposite. The music’s too loud. I’m talking to myself. I’m jumping from site to site.
Either way, I know it’s time for my meds. I don’t harm myself, anymore. I’ve never harmed another. I’ve done the zombie shuffle of too many meds. But, I know that I need them to function.
I don’t hate my meds. I’m damn grateful for them. If it weren’t for the advancements in pharmacology; I’d be dead or institutionalized or worse… lobotomized. That’s what they use to do to the mentally ill. Lock us away and experiment. No rights, no voice, just throw away rejects.
I know it’s time for my meds. I’m slowing down and it’s getting harder to articulate. So… Off I go.